by Jody Hedlund
“Their marriages do affect you, Emmy. Very much.”
“Why?” My question came out more defiant than I intended. Father knew I had no aspiration to involve myself in Mercia’s affairs, that I was perfectly content with my life the way it was and didn’t want it to change.
He shifted several stones in the interior wall to reveal the hidden cupboard filled with books. He’d discovered the compartment shortly after moving to the cottage and had taken to storing his weapons there. “Everyone I talked to said King Ethelwulf had wanted his son, the crown prince, to marry Adelaide or Maribel, and by doing so, squelch the uprising.”
“Then my sisters are free to continue plotting their uprising. But as you know, I have no inclination to be a part of it.” Bede pushed his nose against my hand, and I tangled my fingers in his hair to keep them from trembling.
“Now that the king cannot have Adelaide or Maribel for Prince Ethelrex, he may set his attention upon you.”
“We are safe here in the forest.”
Father didn’t respond except to lift his double-edged sword from his arsenal. At the sight of the imposing blade, a chill skittered over my skin and caused me to shudder. He rarely took out his weapons, but every time he did, I had the same reaction. Although he’d made certain I knew how to use them proficiently, I hated touching them. Even more, I hated the thought of bringing harm to anyone.
“Emmeline.” Mother stood and brushed down her simple skirt fashioned from the same coarse linen as my clothing. Again, her features radiated apology. “My sweeting, I know you want things to continue as they always have, but we have taught you that this life is not your true destiny.” She waved her hand to the humble cottage.
“It can continue.” My voice wobbled with a plea. “We’re a family, and we’re happy here, are we not?” Mother had always claimed she was happy even though she’d never had other children. After experiencing several miscarriages, she’d told me she was all the more grateful for the opportunity to raise me.
Mother’s eyes shone with sudden tears. “We have cherished each moment of every day we have had with you. But ’twould be selfish of us to hang on to you when your sisters and the cause need you.”
“They need my key and our map. Not me.” I patted the leather pouch at my hip. “We shall find a way to deliver them, and then they’ll be able to locate the treasure without me.”
“They need more than the key and map,” Father cut in, “and you know it.”
I was well aware they needed more. When I’d been but a girl, Father and I had found in the key’s shaft a tiny piece of parchment containing the words, “W.M. Land.” We’d put our minds together and figured out the six letters stood for West Moorland, which spread out to the northwest of Inglewood Forest.
I’d recognized the intricate engraving of the wild boar on the bit of the key as symbolizing strength and courage. I hadn’t needed to study much further to discover West Moorland had long ago been known for its wild boar hunting ground.
Though Father knew the trip would take weeks, he’d traveled to West Moorland to the old hunting ground. After searching for days, he’d finally located the foundation of a hunting lodge that had once belonged to the royal family. He’d dug through mounds of rubble before uncovering a column base in the shape of a boar’s head. There, he’d discovered a keyhole hidden at the back of its open mouth amidst sharply pointed teeth. He’d returned home with a third of the map to the Labyrinth of Death.
Although Father had heard of the fabled labyrinth during his years of elite guard training, like most others he’d doubted its existence. But after finding a portion of the map, we’d both realized the labyrinth was no fable and was likely the resting place of the much-sought-after treasure.
After that, we’d scoured the old books and scrolls in the cottage’s hidden cupboard. Though the pages were yellowed with age, the stone walls had preserved the parchments from mice and other wild animals.
We’d always assumed the manuscripts were simply old history texts. But after finding the map, we’d finally understood just how valuable the books were and why they’d been stored in the isolated cottage. Most of them had references to a labyrinth in one form or another and contained countless clues regarding not only the layout of the maze but also the traps within.
It had taken us several years, but together Father and I had studied the books, cataloged details, deciphered codes, and solved riddles, until at last we’d sketched what we believed to be the rest of the labyrinth, adding in the letters of the various passageways, along with the center room, which we agreed contained the treasure.
I was fairly certain our re-created map was accurate, although I wouldn’t know unless I compared the drawing with the other two original pieces.
The truth was, I had no desire to see the real sections of the map—likely in the hands of my sisters by now. I had no desire to visit the labyrinth. And I had no desire to find a hidden treasure. All I wanted was to stay in Inglewood Forest where I was safe with the two people I loved more than life. And I didn’t want to leave my best friend—Bede.
I scratched behind the fox’s ears and earned a lick. “The ancient prophecy indicates that a wise young ruler—not rulers—will rise up.”
In the process of strapping on the belt he used to carry his weapons, Father paused. “Sister Katherine told us it would take the three of you working together to find the treasure.”
Sister Katherine was one of the nuns at St. Cuthbert’s who had shielded Father and Mother when they’d arrived in the Iron Hills with me and my sisters. She’d helped to orchestrate our hiding places so that King Ethelwulf hadn’t been able to discover our whereabouts. She and another nun were the only two who knew where Mother and Father had taken me. After all these years of seclusion and safety, we were certain they’d never given away the location. We could continue to live together in the forest forever enjoying life as we always had.
And that’s what I planned to do.
As if sensing my resolve, Father shared a glance with Mother. She nodded at him, and he squared his shoulders, took a breath, and then met my gaze levelly. “We’re leaving for Norland at nightfall.”
I stiffened. “No.”
Bede rose to his feet, his fur bristling and his eyes darting between Father and me. Although Bede would never attack Father, he’d do anything to defend me at the slightest hint of aggression. I placed my hand upon his head to soothe him even though I was anything but reassured.
“I don’t want to go.” I tried to speak calmly, but my voice wavered anyway. “You know that.” Father had already tried once to convince me to go to Norland after he’d learned Adelaide was there. I’d refused to leave. He had to know I hadn’t changed my mind since last year.
“We must go. I heard rumors that the king’s men are searching Inglewood Forest for you. It’s only a matter of time before they track you here.”
“The forest covers hundreds of square miles. They won’t find us.” Even as I spoke, I knew I wasn’t being rational, that I was letting my emotions cloud my judgment.
Father’s expression turned grave. “I saw tracks on my way back into our part of the forest. A soldier’s tracks.”
I should have known Father would notice the tracks too. “We can’t assume the worst. The tracks could be from a woodcutter coming to assess the land, or a hunter who’s wandered too far, or even another charcoal burner.”
Father shook his head and pursed his lips. “People are looking for you. And since we don’t know who may be friend or foe, we must go.”
People had always been looking for me, especially in my nightmares, but this couldn’t happen here, not in our safe place.
“No one realizes you and Mother have a child.” Every time we’d had a rare visitor over the years—usually just another charcoal burner—Father had distracted the guest until Mother could hide me.
“Emmy, please try to understand—”
“Why can’t you try to understand how I feel?”
My voice had risen with my growing anxiety—an emotion I didn’t want to experience but one that nevertheless swelled in my chest. I scrambled to my feet.
“We only want what is best for you.” Mother held out her hands and walked toward me.
“This is the best. I have all I want.”
“Whether you acknowledge it or not, God made you for more.” Father’s voice turned firm and his eyes steely. “Now, resign yourself to leaving. Help your mother pack. We’ll partake together of your birthday meal, and then we’ll be on our way.”
Tears stung the back of my eyes. Why was Father being so stubborn? Was he thinking again of how poor we were and that I deserved more than this kind of life—something he oft lamented? As much as I’d tried to accept everything they’d taught me about duty and being a princess, I didn’t want or need anything beyond what I already had.
“I know you don’t like my decision now,” he said, “but I pray one day you’ll see the wisdom in it.”
Mother drew near, her arms open wide to console me, her expression tender and compassionate. “Emmeline, sweeting.”
If I allowed her to hug me, I wouldn’t be able to stay strong. I’d crumble and cry and do as she asked. Instead, I needed time to think, to come up with a new plan, to gather my wits together. And I couldn’t do any of that here. I had to get away.
I fumbled with the latch and swung the door open. Before Mother could enfold me in her arms, I backed out of the cottage, nearly falling in my haste. Hurriedly, I righted myself, spun, and began to run.
Chapter
2
Rex
At another anguished scream from our prisoner, I gritted my teeth. On the edge of our camp and surrounded by my toughest warriors, the captive dangled by his arms from a rope looped over a sturdy branch of an oak. His feet were only inches from the ground, but not close enough to give him any relief from the rope pulling his arms from their sockets or rubbing his wrists raw.
Stripped to his drawers, he writhed, his back and chest displaying the welts from the glowing red iron Magnus was using to torture him. So far, our prisoner had endured the pain without giving away anything. Sooner or later he had to divulge the information we wanted . . . or die.
“Tell us what you know about Princess Emmeline,” Magnus said again as he had already numerous times.
The man lifted his chin defiantly, the same response he’d given us since we’d strung him up an hour ago. We’d been lucky to find him. In fact, I’d almost lost his trail on several occasions. But when he’d circled around and headed toward his small rebel search party, I’d cut him off. He’d put up a decent chase, but he’d been no match for my speed or skill.
Magnus pressed the hot iron to the prisoner’s lower back at the tender spot in the middle. The man immediately arched up in another scream worse than any of the others. I hated the sound. More than that, I hated the torture we were inflicting. But I knew of no other way to get the information we so desperately needed.
We’d been searching for the lost princess for many a fortnight, nigh onto months. None of our leads had amounted to anything. None of the people we’d questioned knew of a young woman who was coming of age. None could supply us with any helpful clues.
Now our time was running out. The soldiers bringing fresh provisions yesterday had informed us that ships carrying Queen Adelaide Constance, her rebel army, and Norland’s forces were sailing south toward Delsworth.
Not only would we soon be under attack from outside the kingdom, but it was also possible that malcontent citizens from inside the country would rise up to fight with Queen Adelaide Constance. Thus, the king and his advisors believed my marriage to Princess Emmeline would help appease the masses. The king even held out hope it would prevent Queen Adelaide Constance from attacking altogether.
I swallowed an angry oath. I was failing not only myself but also my vow to the king to find the princess. After spending years working hard to become the best elite guard in the kingdom, I couldn’t fail now. Not when the king trusted me to find this last princess after others had fallen short of capturing her sisters.
As the king’s firstborn son and heir to the throne, I’d waited many long years in Warwick for him to call me back to Delsworth so I could show him how capable and dedicated I was and that I was worthy to succeed him someday.
This was my chance. And now I had to finish the job. Even if it meant torturing one of the rebel scouts.
At least I could take comfort from the knowledge I wasn’t the only one having difficulty finding Princess Emmeline. The queen’s rebel search party was apparently experiencing trouble too, for we continued to have sightings of their harpy eagle which meant they hadn’t yet called off their quest.
If the queen’s people were still looking for Emmeline, then most likely the princess hadn’t escaped yet to Norland. She remained lost somewhere deep in the heart of the thick forest in a place that was practically impossible to find.
Magnus glanced at me, his eyes gleaming. My younger brother was taking too much pleasure from his task of attempting to extricate information from our prisoner. Time to relinquish the job to someone else, no matter how much Magnus pouted.
“Let Dante take over,” I ordered.
Magnus didn’t remove the iron from the rebel’s back. “Why?”
I crossed my thick arms over my chest and braced my feet apart, hoping to send the message to my brother that I wouldn’t be moved in my decision.
He held the iron a moment longer before lowering it. Even though an angry shadow flitted across his handsome features, Magnus dared not defy me. He handed the hot stick to my head commander.
Dante took the iron and then gave a slight bow of respect to Magnus before standing back and looking to me for guidance.
During the exchange, I’d kept half my attention upon the prisoner and realized he’d expelled a breath, likely one of relief. The slight action on his part was the indication I’d been waiting for, the sign he was breaking and on the brink of giving us the information we needed.
“Put the iron away,” I said, without taking my half-attention from the prisoner.
Magnus cursed under his breath, his glare condemning me for being too soft, too lenient. And once again, I wished the king hadn’t commanded me to bring him along. I hadn’t spent much time with my brother growing up since he’d remained in Delsworth during my years of training in Warwick. Nevertheless, upon my arrival in the royal residence, it hadn’t taken long to realize Magnus was prideful and bloodthirsty—a combination that made him dangerous not only to himself but to all of us.
At the release of tension in the prisoner’s abdomen, I knew I had him right where I wanted. He’d inadvertently shown me his weakness, that the torture was becoming unbearable. It wouldn’t take much more to get him to talk.
I nodded at Dante. “Take your dullest knife and start severing his toes, one at a time.”
“I like it,” Magnus said, offering one of his rare compliments even as he crossed his arms and waited much too eagerly.
The prisoner’s body stiffened.
Dante moved to do the task with unquestioning obedience, his face stoic, his eyes determined. Wisely, he positioned himself to one side of the prisoner to avoid any kicking. Then, before our captive could wrestle away, Dante grabbed the man’s calf, bent the knee, and wrenched the foot back, the knife already pressed against the large toe.
As the dull blade cut into the man’s flesh, I didn’t breathe.
“The princess is living with a former elite guard who is now a charcoal burner,” the prisoner called out, his voice desperate, his features taut with pain.
I raised my hand.
Dante halted his sawing and lifted the knife away.
“A guard who used to go by the name Lance,” the captive rushed to speak. “And a noblewoman by the name Felicia. That’s all I know. I vow it.”
A former elite guard. And a noblewoman. Surely with that description, other charcoal burners would be able t
o point the way. After all, an elite guard and noblewoman could hardly live in the woods all these years without gaining some attention.
And yet, if such details had been enough, why hadn’t the queen’s search party located the princess? Why were they still looking?
“I need more information,” I said with a nod to Dante.
He lowered his knife to the prisoner’s toe and began to cut again.
For several seconds the man attempted to endure the blade biting through his flesh, but then he released a guttural cry and yelled, “Wait!”
Dante glanced at me. I raised my hand again, and he stopped.
The prisoner lifted his tormented eyes to meet mine. I kept my face void of any emotion. If this man knew how much I detested torturing him, he’d refuse to say anything more and cling to the hope I’d release him—which I likely would.
“I came upon a new trail this afternoon,” he said in a ragged voice. “A few footprints that were slender and small enough to belong to a young woman.”
Finally. This was information we could use. “Where?”
“If you release me, I’ll take you to the footprints.”
I motioned Dante to resume the torture.
“Three-quarters of a league to the southwest,” the prisoner shouted quickly, “and then perhaps half a league west.”
I studied his face. From the earnestness and fear in his expression, I knew he was telling the truth. “Give us other landmarks.”
Already my mind was carving out a path in the direction he’d given us. I added more detail as the prisoner described stones, trees, and setting particulars he’d memorized in order to take the rebel search party back to that area.
With the information fresh in my mind, I was anxious to go before darkness settled. I pivoted and stalked toward my tent.
“Cut the prisoner down and bind him hand and foot,” I called over my shoulder. “If he’s lying, I shall not only cut off his toes upon my return but shall sever his fingers as well.”